


Something About Innocence

by 0palite



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Child Soldier Zim, Comedy, Gen, Irkens are Terrible (Invader Zim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0palite/pseuds/0palite
Summary: Zim muses on the nature of human childhood, and also on how much it objectively sucks.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79





	Something About Innocence

Irkens didn't have childhoods. They didn't need them. Thanks to the glorious invention of the PAK, irken smeets could have the entire sum of knowledge of the empire uploaded directly into their brains as soon as they were able to survive outside of the life-sustaining jelly matrix of their cloning plugs.

In Zim’s observations of the native life on Earth he saw up close how primitive species that didn’t have access to that sort of technology grew up, and it involved a lot of wasted time. Human larvae, primitive, tiny, wiggly things that they were, were born stupid... well, even stupider than adult humans were. They spent the first few years of their lives mindless, only able to blubber incoherently and soil themselves. Having to learn how to speak organically was an inefficient process, as was this ‘skooling’ that they went through as they aged. Human children didn’t seem to be able to pick up even the most basic facts about their own species without repeated repetition. 

The whole concept of skool was ridiculous to him. Young irkens didn’t need to spend time learning basic skills, not when they had the combined expertise of the collective to draw on. For example, every citizen of the empire had hundreds of years worth of aerial maneuvers performed by Zoot, Ari, Deca, the greatest irken space aces to ever live, to draw upon as if those memories were their own. Humans had to spend hundreds of hours to form their own memories of learning how to pilot the infinitely more simple and ground bound automobile, and even then they weren’t very good at it. They kept fumbling the steering wheel and mashing the flimsy things into walls every time he pulled up next to one in the Voot.

The most ridiculous thing of all, in Zim’s opinion, was the fact that humans wasted even more time on this ‘childhood’ than they even had to. Humans had a habit of incessantly coddling their young, even long after they had pupated into children and gained the abilities to run, jump, and hold a primitive Earth weapon. The human children surrounding Zim at school had nothing important ever expected of them, and expected nothing of themselves. They lazed around with no responsibilities, spending their free time on useless diversions like ‘sport ball’ or ‘video game’. Irkens of an equivalent age would be soldiers by this point, already hardened by tens of battles in service of the empire. 

On Irk, smeets were considered adults once they had either shed their egg tooth, or reached twenty cycles of age, whichever came first. That was essentially a formality. The time between birth and adulthood was spent performing many rounds of testing simulations to sort out defectives from useful soldiers.

Zim himself, of course, was an exception to that rule, just like he was all others. Within only a couple years of his birth he had successfully identified and exploited faults of inner Irk’s power grid not once, but twice, and as a result graduated early to a position in military research alongside the empire’s other best minds. And, another mere few years after that, after his invention of the horror blob proved itself to be the best, most unsurpassable piece of military technology ever, he was graduated to invader training. There, on account of his skill, earned the privilege of being sent on only the deadliest of recon missions with the lowest chances of survival. 

Zim prided himself on his holding the title of the youngest graduated invader currently active, though technically that was discounting his Almighty Tallest, who both finished the invader program but were whisked away to ascend to the helm of the empire after the terrible and unforeseeable accident(s) that killed the Tallest(s) before them. He was also ignoring the other, younger invader, Skoodge, but even then, Skoodge hadn't even been an invader yet when Zim was reaping glorious victory during the course of Operation Impending Doom 1, so he didn’t really count.

The point was, here he was, proud of reaching adulthood so early, finding himself on a backwards planet where being a useless baby for a long period of time was considered a good thing.

These were the thoughts he found himself with on a bright and sunny day at the human mall. He had come here on an information gathering mission, but was close to ending up empty handed. The video rental store had no new movies in stock with plots pertaining to human wartime tactics or response strategies to alien invasion, the store full of kitchen appliances was as uninspiring as ever, and the clothing boutiques, like always, carried nothing even remotely as comfortable or stylish as a standard issue invader’s uniform.

At some point, after he had retired to a bench to rest his legs and people watch, which was a good way to whet his appetite for the extinction of humanity, he caught sight of one of those aforementioned human children having one of those aforementioned human childhoods. It was a small girl, not unlike the accursed girly ranger that had once planted herself in the mud in front of his base and threatened to turn his undercover operation into a public spectacle. This one was old enough to walk by herself, yet still strolled hand in hand with both of her parents, who seemed no less than enthused to be supporting the weight of the little freeloader.

The little beast came across a storefront absolutely loaded with cardboard props painted to look like those abhorrent cartoons that GIR liked to flood the base’s monitors with. The thing was clearly painted in those colors to lure in human children like her, and lure her in it did indeed. Upon seeing the signage she screeched and howled and  _ demanded _ her parents take her inside so loudly that the noise rattled Zim’s antennae even under his wig. 

Zim found himself rather curious. Something so attractive to human children as to entice them to make  _ that _ sort of horrid noise may be useful to him. Maybe if he got a group of them in a chorus he could create a sound so devastating it would explode the Dib’s giant head. He hopped up from his seat and went to investigate.

The cartoon cutouts were advertising a toy store, or, as it called itself, a toy ‘workshop’. There was little slogan on a speech bubble coming out of a character’s mouth declaring that this was a place where ‘anyone could be a kid’. As if being a human child was desirable in any way. Humanity’s infatuation with their own young’s uselessness was baffling.

Zim entered the store, for research purposes, of course. It seemed like this place called itself a workshop on account of how it tricked humans into playing factory drone, assembling their own plush toys and then paying twice the price of the preassembled ones at a regular toy store. Evidently, doing it yourself was supposed to be fun, or something? Irkens had no need for fun, but Zim, ever diligent in his goal to research every facet of humanity, including useless childhood fun, nonetheless marched up to the counter and  _ demanded _ to partake in the crafting ceremony himself. 

The service drone overseeing the place, a twiggy, smiley, way-too-tall-for-her-level-of-unimportance woman, was obnoxiously chipper, and she seemed to feel the need to comment on every single one of Zim choices pertaining to the creation of his own useless toy. 

At first he had picked out what he deemed to be the least hideous fabric shell of the selection—some kind of beaver looking thing—but in response she _tsk_ ed at him in disapproval. Apparently, he had picked one of the less popular designs. Zim didn’t care for the useless opinions of lower life forms or anything, of course, but he also didn’t intend to present himself as abnormal enough to be subjected to close scrutiny, so he swapped it out for the second least terrible one. It was a squashed, antlered thing with hideously bulbous eyes that the lady informed him were _so cute_. He supposed it could maybe look a bit like Minimoose if one ripped their own eyeballs out and then squinted their empty sockets at it.

She hovered over him incessantly as he worked, offering him tips and advice condescendingly, as if he didn’t create things orders of magnitude more fashionable and deadly than this mere toy on a daily basis. It wasn’t until she informed him that he had to  _ kiss _ the little plastic ‘heart’ thingy he was supposed to shove in amongst the stuffing to ensure the doll got a soul or whatever that he informed her in no uncertain terms that though he was, indeed, a perfectly normal human worm baby, that he was not a stupid one, and she should go take her useless advice somewhere else. Finally, she slunk away, and he was free to finish his dumb craft project in peace.

“D’aww, lookit that, muffkin! You did  _ such _ a good job!”

Zim was distracted from his work by the exclamation. He looked up to see the young girl from earlier, flanked by both her parents and another attendant. She was holding up a toy with an identical skin to Zim’s, except it was perfectly stuffed to the point it resembled the example photograph on the wall above. Her human parents were cooing adoringly at it, faces full of pride.

Zim looked down at his own toy. He had focused so hard on stuffing it full of cotton he hadn’t noticed that at some point it had gotten to be so bloated and misshapen that it looked like it was afflicted with some kind of internal parasite.

Of course, any old idiot could have made it look like the pictures. It took skill on the levels of the almighty Zim to fit that much stuffing into flimsy, low quality fabric without causing it to burst. It merely exemplified the backwardness of human culture that the little girl was receiving praise for her mediocre job instead of him... not that Zim needed any filthy human praise, or anything.

He bet that if he called his Almighty Tallest up and showed them his work they would give him the praise he deserved... but, no. He’d wait to call them until the next time he invented something actually useful to the empire.

He spared another glance over at the human family. The two parents had reached down and gathered the little girl up in a huge schmoopy hug.

It was then and there that Zim decided his investigation of the place was finished. He concluded that there was a grand total of nothing in this establishment that would be particularly useful in his future conquest of this dirtball. Actually, on second thought... that white fluff they filled the dolls with was interesting. Zim briefly entertained the thought of gathering a massive amount of it, maybe using it to drown a large group of humans in one go, until he realized, no, that idea was stupid. This store, like everything else ever invented by humans, was a complete waste of time.

After he paid for his toy with a plastic paything he had swiped right out of some rube’s pocket, he walked home. His trip this afternoon had been almost completely fruitless. Sure, he could probably give his toy to GIR to chew on later, he supposed, but the robot would probably have been just as happy with a taco, or a clod of dirt. 

He didn’t have any ideas on a new plan, but maybe it was for the best. He wasn't quite in the mood for world conquest today.

When he neared his base, he continued without stopping, every defense set up on the walkway to the door disabling automatically once it recognized him as the master of the house. The door unlocked itself with a click the moment his hand touched the handle, and he didn’t even flinch when the motion sensors activated and triggered his fake robot parents to spring forth, spouting their familiar line “Welcome home, son!” more in the direction of the street than at him, just in case any of the neighbors still had doubts that he was a normal boy with normal boy parents.

Once he had made it inside, the two robots began their self-disassembly, their parental duty of the day fulfilled. Zim felt a stab of resentment in his squeedlyspooch at the sight of the house’s mechanical arms coming out to fold their disassembled limbs out of sight, though he could only guess why. Human parents. What even was the  _ point. _

When he turned back to the interior of the house, he caught sight of his robot servant, GIR, who hadn’t yet been alerted to his presence. He was splayed out in the center of the couch, the hood of his dog disguise pulled down to reveal his true face. By all appearances, he was completely transfixed by the screeching commercials playing on the screen across the room. Zim spared a glance behind him, and, sure enough, the curtains were open, so any human that was feeling particularly like snooping (read: Dib) would be able to see right in.

“GIR! How many times do I have to tell you, put your disguise  _ on _ when you’re visible from the street!” Zim yelled. 

That got GIR’s attention. He turned to face Zim, but didn’t seem particularly concerned by his master’s urgency. He only held a paw up to his mouth and shushed him loudly. “Shhhh! The Floopsy Bloops Shmoopsy reboot is on!” 

And so it was. The commercial break ended, and the television cut back to the two familiar beasts, squishing and squashing around in their saccharine little TV land.

“I thought we were going to watch that together,” Zim muttered. Then he stopped himself. He really didn’t need to remind GIR of his promise to sit through another season of that garbage and trigger another screaming fit when he reneged. That show was for human grubs who liked to waste every moment of their already pathetically short lives, and Zim wouldn’t be caught dead watching another schmillisecond of it. He would be better off retreating down to the lab to do something productive. 

But first... “Computer!” Zim snapped. “Close the blinds, before anyone sees!” A synthesized groan played over the house speakers, but unlike GIR, the computer at least complied. Curtains flew shut over both the windows, as if blown by an invisible force. As an extra touch, a mechanical arm came down from the ceiling and plucked the contact lenses right out of Zim’s eyes for him. Finally, something was pulling its weight around here. He blinked the dryness away, and pulled his wig off himself, relishing the feeling of being able to stretch his antennae out to their full length after spending all day with them covered.

The chatter from the television was even louder and more attention-grabbing than ever now. Zim looked up to watch a scene of Schmoopsy, bindle on a stick in hand, setting out towards the sunset, Floopsy mournfully looking on.

“Eh, so, what’s going on here?” Zim asked, intrigued.

GIR turned to him, expression deadly serious. “Floopsy  _ doesn’t _ bloop Schmoopsy anymore,” he whispered, voice choked with emotion. The little robot leaned as far forward as he could without toppling off the couch, completely engrossed in the drama.

Zim scoffed derisively, though he was already settling down to take the empty seat on the couch. He let his overstuffed antlerbeast toy fall from his hands, forgotten. GIR, without breaking eye contact with the screen, grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth.

“Floopsy  _ always _ stops blooping Schmoopsy,” Zim said, sneering. “It happens at least once a season. They’ll be blooping up a storm by the end of the episode.”

GIR didn’t respond. There was liquid gathering in the corners of his glowing eyes as they watched the next scene play out. 

Floopsy was alone now, tearfully pawing through a photo album full of pictures of her and Bloopsy’s history together. Zim was ashamed to admit to himself that he recognized every one of those photos as scenes from an episode of the original series. And yet, despite the fact that he knew _ exactly _ how it was going to end, he kept watching. Floopsy realized that she really  _ did _ bloop Schmoopsy. Schmoopsy returned, apologetic for his sudden departure. They all learned a very important lesson about friendship. They declared their undying bloop for each other. They hugged it out. The episode ended.

This show was just like human  _ childhood, _ Zim thought, internally disgusted. It was overly coddling. It was sentimental. It was  _ fake. _ If Floopsy and Bloopsy were real creatures then it would only be a matter of time before the warships of some superior race descended from the heavens to subjugate their planet and turn it into something useful. Floopsy and Schmoopsy wouldn’t have very much time for blooping at all when they were enslaved in the assembly lines of a snack factory.

And yet, when he found himself caught up in watching the stupid, wasteful show, everything felt right. It was comfortable, familiar, safe... Zim couldn’t get the image of that little girl from the mall out of his head, being squeezed so tightly in the arms of her parents that they might as well have been trying to make her pop.

And in that moment, Zim had a ridiculous, moronic thought. He wanted someone to bloop him. It went as soon as it came and left him feeling quite silly in its wake, especially since even by Earth standards, blooping wasn’t even a real thing.

He looked over at GIR, who was wiping at his eyes, letting synthetic tears soak into the thick fabric of his dog suit. Zim was going to have to wash that out later.

Zim opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it. He couldn’t seem to be able to put his tongue in the right place. Finally, he managed to organize his thoughts enough to ask a question. “GIR, do you want a hug?”

GIR looked up at him like he’d grown an extra head. And he might as well have. Every single time the robot had tried to hug him in the past, which was a sizable amount of times, he had never once even come close to considering reciprocating. Physical affection... no, affection in general, was not something Zim  _ did. _ But now he was feeling all weird and warm and... bloopy. And he couldn’t stop the question from slipping out.

When GIR finally spoke, his voice quavered with emotion. “Yusss! Yes! I do! I really do!”

Zim had almost no warning before the robot struck, and it took no time at all for him to realize his horrible mistake. GIR, like all irken military grade equipment, was built with maximum strength and capacity to output damage in mind. And now every single ounce of force in his little body was focused on hugging Zim as hard as possible. Unlike the child’s parents from earlier, GIR really was trying to make him burst. All the air was forced from him at once. He could hear his own ribs creaking. His squeedlyspooch was about to rupture under the pressure. He gasped, and found himself so suffocated he couldn’t even voice his discomfort. 

In a blind panic, Zim extended four spidery, metallic legs from his PAK and used them to hoist the two of them into the air. GIR acted as if he didn’t even notice the sloppy attempt to shake him off, only nuzzling his face into Zim’s chest even harder and retightening his grip. It wasn’t until Zim went so far as to extend a metallic arm and whack him hard enough over the head to leave a dent did he drop off, leaving a newly freed Zim gasping and coughing.

Zim’s mechanical legs buckled, and he dropped to the floor, fighting for breath. He certainly didn’t feel bloopy anymore. Just sheepish and sore and angry.

“GIR,” he hissed, voice hoarse. “Never,  _ ever, _ do that again.”

GIR wasn’t listening, instead feeling around the new dent in his head. “I’m squishy!” he cheered.

Zim hefted himself to his feet, seething, and made a beeline for the array of disguised elevators in the kitchen. Maybe he would go blow something up. Or yank the eyeballs out of some hapless Earth creature. Anything, as long as it didn’t involve flooping, or booping, or  _ whatever. _

And yet, as the elevator descended into the dark depths of his base, that stabbing feeling of resentment, no,  _ longing, _ came back. He quashed it down.

Zim wasn’t a child. He didn’t need a childhood. Childhood wasn’t even a real thing! The mere concept of it was only a result of human primitivism, that they, despite their stupidly short lifespans, decided it would be a good idea to expose their own young to the horrors of a cold, uncaring universe by  _ taking it slow. _

The elevator landed and Zim stepped out into the sterile, dimly lit lab, making a resolution then and there. He wouldn’t waste his time anymore on silly things like making toys or watching cartoons or  _ hugging. _ He had spent so much time around these wretched humans that they were starting to rub off on him, with their emotions and their parental love and their useless, pathetic  _ schmoop. _

He had to remember the truth. He was a soldier, and his time would always be better served carrying out his mission in service of the empire. He didn’t need to be coddled, and he would prove it, to his Tallest, to all of humanity, as he wiped the entire population of this wretched planet off the face of the galaxy. 


End file.
